Wild Revenge: The Dangerous Jacob Wilde / The Ruthless Caleb Wilde / The Merciless Travis Wilde

Travis squeezed his shoulder.

Despite everything, Jake began to grin.

“Is this a welcoming committee?” he said, “or a plot to do me in?”

They laughed with him, his sisters weeping, his brothers grinning from ear to ear.

For a few seconds, it was as if nothing had changed, as if they were all still kids and the world was a wonderland of endless possibilities….

Then Caleb cleared his throat.

“The General sends his best.”

Jake checked the room. “He’s not here?”

“No,” Travis said uncomfortably. “He said to tell you he’s sorry but he got hung up at a NATO meeting in London.”

Reality returned in a cold, hard rush.

“Of course,” Jake said politely. “I understand.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Jaimie touched his arm.

“Everyone’s waiting to say hello,” she said softly.

Jake forced a smile. “So I see.”

Caleb leaned in closer. “Sorry about the crowd,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Travis said. “Trust me, bro. We didn’t plan any of this.”

“It’s just that word got around,” Lissa said. “And people were so eager to welcome you home….”

“You don’t mind, Jake,” Em said, “do you?”

“No,” he said, “of course not.”

His brothers saw right through the polite response. They exchanged a look.

“You ladies can have him later,” Caleb said. “What he needs right now is a cold brew. Right, my man?”

What he needed was to get the hell out of here, especially because he knew what would happen once he stepped fully inside the room, where the lights were brighter and the crowd could get its first good look at him, but why add cowardice to his other sins?

“Unless,” Travis said quickly, “baby brother wants champagne. Or wine.”

Jake looked at his brothers. They were throwing him a lifeline, a way to grab hold of the past by segueing into an old routine.

“Champagne’s for chicks,” he said, the line coming to him as readily as his next breath. “Wine’s for wusses.”

“But beer—” Travis said solemnly.

Caleb finished the silly poem. “—is for real men.”

Jake could almost feel his tension easing.

They’d come up with the doggerel years ago. It had been valid when they were in their teens. Not anymore. They’d all grown up; they’d traveled the world and, in the process, their tastes had become more sophisticated.

Travis even had a wine cellar, something they teased him about unmercifully.

Still, a cold beer sounded good, almost as good as the memories dredged up by the silly bit of shtick.

“A cold beer,” Jake said wistfully. “A longneck?”

“Does real beer come in any other kind of bottle?”

The three Wildes smiled. And moved from the porch into the room.

“Hell,” Jake muttered.

He’d forgotten the crowd. The lights.

The reaction.

People gasped. Slapped their hands to their mouths. Whispered to the person beside them.

Jake could have sworn that all the air in the big room had been siphoned away on one deep, communal inhalation.

“Crap,” Caleb muttered. Travis echoed the sentiment, though with a far more basic Anglo-Saxonism.

“It’s okay,” Jake said, because if ever there’d been a time when a lie was a good thing, it was now.

A surge of partygoers surrounded him.

He recognized the faces. Ranchers. Their wives. The couple who owned the hardware store, the town’s pharmacist. The owner of the local supermarket. The dentist. Teachers who’d known him in high school, coaches, guys he’d played football with.

Most of them had recovered their equilibrium. The men stuck out their hands. The women offered their cheeks for kisses.

All offered variations on the same theme.

Jake, it’s wonderful to have you home.

“It’s wonderful to be home,” he answered.

Another lie, but what was he going to say? No, it’s not wonderful? I can’t wait to get the hell out of here? I don’t belong here anymore, I don’t belong anywhere?

“Just keep moving,” Travis muttered.

Jake nodded. One foot in front of the other …